The Man with Many Lives

By Robert W. Day FSO Retired

Born in 1919, Robert W. (Bob) Day looks back on the ten decades of his lifetime with wonder and gratitude.

While recognition and accolades for jobs well done followed him throughout his life, it was the adventures and the family, friends, and co-workers with whom he shared those adventures, that he remembers most.

As a youngster, Bob never expected his life beyond Leavenworth, Kansas to be full of life threatening moments nor moments of serene beauty stretching over four continents, but it was.

He never imagined warding off machine-gun-weilding revolutionaries, poisonous mambo snakes, nor a Prince intent on buying his daughter, but he did. He would have been surprised to know that more than once he would face death in a failing airplane, and live to tell the tale.

Bob recalls all this and more as he celebrates his 100 years of an adventurous life. Here, in his own words, is Bob's story as he remembers it in 2019.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796067408

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 by Robert W. Day, FSO, Retired.

Library of Congress Control Number:    2019917033

ISBN:                    Hardcover                          978-1-7960-6739-2

                             Softcover                            978-1-7960-6738-5

                              eBook                                  978-1-7960-6740-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 10/30/2019

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DEDICATION PAGE

To past, present, and future Foreign Service officers and staff who spend years at our embassies working to develop friendships and good relations with the diplomats and citizens of foreign countries.

DISCLAIMER

I have related the stories and adventures of my life as I remember them. I hope that I have faithfully rendered the essences of cultures, customs, and religions I have had the pleasure to experience. In order not to cause offense, I have in many cases substituted the names of the actual person with a facsimile name. Any slight or misrepresentation of individuals, cultures, countries, or religions is wholly unintentional; and I hope I have not offended anyone. So here is my story as I remember it and as supported by my notes.

CONTENTS

Dedication Page

Disclaimer

Acknowledgments

Biography

Chapter 1 Early Teenage Years

Chapter 2 Adventures In Scouting

Chapter 3 Disillusioned

Chapter 4 Middle Teenage Years

Chapter 5 Later Teenage Years

Chapter 6 Moving On

Chapter 7 The Beginning Of A New Career

Chapter 8 Military and World War II Service

Chapter 9 A New Assignment: Traveling Auditor

Chapter 10 Assignment: Wendover, Utah

Chapter 11 Government Assignments

Chapter 12 Arriving In Baghdad, Iraq

Chapter 13 Baptism Under Fire

Chapter 14 A Serious Accident

Chapter 15 Mistaken Identity

Chapter 16 Accident On The Babylon Highway

Chapter 17 A Family In Distress

Chapter 18 Leaving Baghdad, Iraq

Chapter 19 Short Stories

Chapter 20 Assignment: Washington DC

Chapter 21 Assignment: Tehran, Iran

Chapter 22 A Man In Distress

Chapter 23 A Night To Remember

Chapter 24 R & R Trip To Paris

Chapter 25 Hijacked

Chapter 26 Medical Attention In Tehran, Iran

Chapter 27 A Lady Called Spider

Chapter 28 Assignment: Munich

Chapter 29 The Rescue

Chapter 30 A Lucky Miss

Chapter 31 Celebrations In Germany

Chapter 32 A Tragedy To The Nation

Chapter 33 Leaving Munich

Chapter 34 Assignment Change

Chapter 35 Assignment: Ghana, West Africa

Chapter 36 The Ambassador’s Get-Acquainted Visit

Chapter 37 Rescue of The Monthly Food Shipment

Chapter 38 The Revolution

Chapter 39 A Shocking Story

Chapter 40 Hunting In Africa

Chapter 41 My Dad’s Passing

Chapter 42 What Price My Daughter

Chapter 43 Assignment: Washington, DC

Chapter 44 Retirement

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A book is not the product of one mind. In my case, my three wives all contributed greatly. My first wife, Charlotte, was planning to write a book of our travels in the Middle East, but the accident that led to her death prevented her from accomplishing this. My second wife, Dottie, was with me on most of the adventures you will find in this book and was a great inspiration. My third wife, Eloise, encouraged me and started working with me on this book before her untimely death.

I am indebted also to my older sister, Hazel B. Anderson, who was an author in her own right, completing twelve books of our parents’ and grandparents’ memoirs. In order to bring alive these memoirs, she and her husband Ralph traveled many miles within the United States gathering data over a period of years. During the six years before her death, she kept constantly reminding me that I had a book to write. I am confident that if it wasn’t for her push, I would not have proceeded to finally complete my memoirs.

I would like to acknowledge Betsey Leonard and Shaula Noonan, my daughters, and their husbands Jack D. Leonard, II, and David Noonan, and my grandson, Jack D. Leonard, III, for being my inspiration and for courageously sharing many of the experiences I will write about.

Also, I wish to thank Mary K. Head and Faye Smith, editors; Sylvia M. Gregory Kelley, who devoted hours typing these memoirs, and offering other suggestions to the completion of this book, Donna J. Hunt, who also edited the book, gave computer support, and helped keep us on track, and others who contributed to my efforts.

Subsequently, Donna J. Hunt and Sylvia M. Gregory Kelley were made editor and co-editor in finalizing the book, which is most appreciated. This book would never have been completed without their assistance.

I am indebted to my family and friends who listened patiently while I told my stories.

Finally, I wish to thank my many friends and others who will be purchasing this book to learn more about the duties and requirements of a Foreign Service officer at our many embassies abroad. Many individuals do not realize the efforts and the life-threatening dangers the Foreign Service Officers experience maintaining diplomatic relations and protecting American citizens as they travel abroad.

In addition, I wish to thank the six presidents, from President Roosevelt to President Nixon, who served as our country’s leaders during this period. I am grateful for the opportunity to serve them as well as my country while fulfilling my duties as a federal employee, a member of the military, and a Foreign Service Commissioned Officer of the Diplomatic Service.

Robert W. Day, FSO, Retired

BIOGRAPHY

Robert William Day was born in Leavenworth, Kansas, on April 16, 1919, to a middle class family. His parents were Minor H. and Anna Jane Day. He was the third child from this marriage. Robert was an average student in school, and his dad thought he should go into engineering, as he performed very well on engineering aptitude tests in school.

His father owned a medium-sized electrical and battery business which catered to the public of Leavenworth County, in Fort Leavenworth and many farmers of eastern Kansas. Prior to going into business for himself, Minor was wire chief (supervisor) for the Bell Telephone Company in Kansas City, Missouri, and later owned several telephone exchanges in small cities in western Missouri and eastern Kansas.

The electrical business did very well until the Great Depression, when his father reluctantly closed his business and worked for private firms until America’s entrance into WWII. At that time, he devoted his engineering experience to winning the war by being employed in the electrical field at Fort Leavenworth. He was later employed as chief electrical engineer at the patrol torpedo (PT) boat factory in Leavenworth, which was constructing PT boats. Then he worked as a civilian engineer for the US Navy, as a chief inspector of heavy guns on US warships in San Francisco, California. He served in this capacity for the last fifteen years of his working life. Perhaps it was from watching his father as he worked throughout his life that Robert developed his never-ending work ethic.

When Robert graduated from high school, he wanted to go on to college in the engineering field as his dad had hoped; but, like 90 percent of his graduating classmates, he did not have the financial means to continue his education at that time, so his higher education would have to wait a few years before it could be achieved. Soon after graduation, as a result of a Civil Service exam he had taken, Robert was offered a position with the US government in the accounting field.

His first position was as an accounting clerk for the US Treasury Department in Kansas City, and after two years, he advanced to the position of accountant for the Department of Agriculture in Lincoln, Nebraska. On December 7, 1941, when America entered WWII and declared war on Japan, he was solicited for a defense position with war housing. Unknown to Robert, because of the high-security classification, it was not revealed that he was actually employed and working as part of the Manhattan Project for the development of the atomic bomb and the method for delivery.

After completion of this assignment, he was subsequently offered a position with the US Department of State and assigned to his first post in Baghdad, Iraq. He served in overseas positions at American Embassies in the Middle East, Europe, and Africa, as well as in Washington DC for diplomatic assignments. His title varied from Budget and Finance Officer at his first post to Consular of Embassy for Administration and Security. His last diplomatic assignment was as Deputy Budget Officer in Washington DC for financial operations for all worldwide American Embassies.

After thirty-two years, Robert left the Federal Diplomatic Service and retired to Florida, where he took a job with the State of Florida in Tallahassee, where he was appointed by the governor to various positions. His last assignment was as a member of the Florida Board of Professional Engineers. He retired from the State of Florida after approximately twenty four years.

After retirement, he traveled extensively within the US and abroad for pleasure. Now at the age of one hundred, he thinks back on his long life and the good times he shared with the three intelligent and wonderful ladies who were his wives, and considers himself blessed and most fortunate to have had these three wonderful marriages. In addition, he has shared his life with two great daughters, Betsey and Shaula, and his grandson, Jack D. Leonard, III, along with some wonderful, dear friends. He has enjoyed friendship with many individuals, including a wonderful lady, Sylvia M. Gregory Kelley, during the last several years.

When asked to what he attributes his longevity, Mr. Day replied, I’ve been blessed with a very wonderful life: three very happy and loving marriages, staying healthy, having a positive attitude, accepting responsibilities, and setting goals, which have kept me active and busy.

He continued with, Once, my daughter asked me why I didn’t just sit down and relax and enjoy retirement. I remember telling her, ‘I’m afraid if I sit down for too long, I won’t be able to get up! Staying as active as you can for as long as you are able keeps you going.’

One goal of his retirement years has been to complete his memoirs, which he began fifteen years ago with several short stories. These have now blossomed into a book of forty-four chapters, which are based on his life’s experiences growing up in Kansas, his years during WWII, his adventures living overseas, and his later years. Some events were frightening, others challenging, and many rewarding, but they were always exciting, he said.

Here now are some of those stories in Bob’s own words.

CHAPTER 1

Early Teenage Years

The year was 1931, April had finally arrived, and I would be twelve years old on the sixteenth. I had been waiting for many months, not always patiently, for my twelfth birthday, as my life was about to change in many ways. For a long time, it had been my great desire to purchase a new Hawthorne Flyer bicycle. I knew that upon reaching the age of twelve, this became a real possibility.

After shopping around at several bicycle shops, I settled for a blue Hawthorne Flyer that had twenty-eight-inch wheels, a built-in toolbox, a tire pump and a little seat above the rear wheel strong enough to carry a second person. This purchase required a great deal of thought and planning on my part, as I was going to spend most of my savings from selling magazines since the age of nine.

After some discussion and a little negotiation with a Mr. Brown, who was of the owner of George Brown’s Bicycle Shop, one of the leading bicycle stores in town, the $32.50 purchase was completed, and I was the proud owner of a brand-new bicycle. I then decided that I needed a wire basket for the front of my bicycle if I was going to be selected for a paper route. My two buddies, Stanley Wade and Kenneth Wittig, both of whom had paper routes with the Kansas City Journal-Post, had talked to the route manager, Mr. Sam Gibson, and had put in a good word on my behalf. However, it would be another year before a suitable paper route was offered to me.

A few days later, my mother asked me if I would go to the grocery store to pick up a few items. The Gonzer Grocery Store was only a block from our house, but that gave me another opportunity to ride my new bicycle. I readily agreed, and she gave me a short list of items that were needed. As I sped off down the street, I thought, how wonderful it is to be the owner of such a great bicycle.

When I approached the intersection where Gonzer’s Store was located, I noticed they were painting a building just across the street, and there was a sign in the window giving notice that a new drugstore was opening soon and delivery boys were needed. I thought I could earn some money as a delivery boy since I no longer had a magazine route, so I parked and locked my bicycle and went to the front door. It was unlocked, and as I opened the door, I was greeted by a very nice-looking man, probably in his mid to late forties, in a white coat, and was asked if he could help me.

I told him my name, mentioned the sign in the window, and told him I would like to apply for the position of delivery boy. He introduced himself and said his name was Al Derzinski and that he was starting a new neighborhood drugstore. As I recall, he asked me my name again, where I lived, my age, and then handed me a sheet of paper with a few questions on it.

He said, Bob, here is an application. If you are interested, please fill it out and have your mother or dad sign it. I am about ready to hire a couple of boys, so please get the application back to me soon.

I thanked him and went on to the grocery story, purchased the items for my mother, and headed for home. I showed my mother the application and told her my story and asked her if I could complete the application and if she would sign it. She agreed, with the stipulation that I would keep my school grades up. I also remember her reminding me that I was just twelve years old and probably would be working some at night, so I had to be very careful riding my bicycle on the streets during the day and at night. Mr. Derzinski had suggested that I install a head-light and a tail-light that were bright enough for people to see me. I had reassured my mother that I would keep my grades up to par and would be careful on the streets; I would ask my dad if he could install a head-light and a tail-light on my bike.

Later that day, I delivered my application to Mr. Derzinski, and after handing it to him, I thought he would say, Well, Bob, if I need you, I will give you a call. But instead, he said, Bob, let’s sit here and talk for a little while. How about having a coke with me?

I replied, Sure, Mr. Derzinski, if you have time.

He then said, Bob, just call me Al. By the way, I want you to meet my pharmacy assistant, Dave Smith, who is working his way through the University of Kansas, as he is going to be a doctor.

As we sat there sipping our cokes, Al was reading my application and smiling, and I thought, Do you suppose I am going to get the job and earn some real money?

Shortly, he put my application aside and said, Bob, I like your application, your neatness, and your character. You live near here, and it looks like you have a good bicycle for deliveries. By the way, do you know anything about a soda fountain?

I said, No, Al, I don’t, but I am certainly willing to learn.

Dave was working behind the fountain, cleaning the shining silver levers on the syrup containers, and said, Don’t worry, Al, I will teach him everything he needs to know.

Al then said, Bob, the job will be as a delivery boy, curb hop, and sometimes fountain man. It pays ten cents per hour, plus tips, to start with. All of my boys get a free soda or milkshake after work of an evening. You will work every other night including Saturday and Sunday and should wear dark pants and a white shirt and a jacket as needed. Until summer, the weekday hours will be from 6:00 p.m. to 10:00 or 10:30 p.m. When you work on Saturday or Sunday, the hours will be from 1:00 p.m. to 10:00 or 10:30 p.m. In the summertime, we may stay open longer, depending on business. Are you interested?

Yes, Al, I responded. When do you want me to report for work?

Al replied, Well, today is Saturday—our opening day is next Monday. So be here Monday evening at 6:00 o’clock. Let’s shake on it.

I shook Al’s hand, not knowing then that I would be working for Al and Dave, either part-time or full-time, for the next three years; I would eventually have doubled my salary to twenty cents per hour, plus tips; and our long friendship would end in a tragedy.

That evening, I asked my dad if there was any way he could install a head-light and a tail-light on my new bicycle. After dinner, we went to check my bike, and I remember him saying, Bob, this sure is some bicycle you have. I wished for a bicycle when I was a boy, but never was able to buy one. You may remember the many stories I have told you. We lived on a farm, and I did have an Indian pony that my dad purchased for three dollars, which was a lot of money in those days, from an Indian family who had a small farm about ten miles from our farm. Well, enough talk. Let’s take a look to see what we need to do to get you all lit up.

After checking out my bike, he decided what was needed, so he said, Bob, if I can have your bike one afternoon in a few days, you will have a good head-light and tail-light so you will be able to drive at night and cars will be able to see you front or back.

My dad was an electrical engineer and owned his own business, known as Day’s Battery and Electric Service, which included a small battery-manufacturing plant. A few days later, he told me that anytime I could spare my bike for a few hours, he was ready to install my lighting equipment. As I was anxious for my new lighting system, the following day, I left my bike with him for the afternoon; and when I returned after school, my dad had built a single-cell wet rechargeable battery that was installed in a flat metal box clamped to the bicycle bar between my knees. I now had very bright head-lights and tail-lights; all I had to do was plug it into the charger every other night or so. Now I had the only bicycle in town that had a rechargeable battery for my lights.

When I reported for work the following Monday in early June 1931, I found that Al had employed a second boy, Bill Harris, who also lived in our area and went to my school. In the summertime, I frequently worked full-time during most of the day, and also of an evening, making deliveries on my bike or working the soda fountain. During this three-year period, I made hundreds of deliveries of prescriptions or other merchandise and rode my bike hundreds of miles. This was in 1931, and the Great Depression had begun, and many boys my age, as well as men, did not have jobs or any source of income. I felt very fortunate.

During the summer months, the drugstore did a remarkable soda fountain business, as we were known for great milkshakes, ice cream sodas, and banana splits. Frequently in the evenings, there would be ten or fifteen vehicles at the curb waiting for or getting curb service. This required four or five boys, called gutter pups, to be available to provide service to these patrons and make deliveries. We had a long wooden bench backed up to the wall of the drugstore, where we all sat when we were not busy waiting on cars.

Late one Saturday night in 1933, I was fourteen years old and on curb hop duty with four other boys. One of the boys, who I will call Richard, had been waiting on a very attractive single lady in a late-model vehicle. When he returned from placing her tray at the door of her vehicle, he said, Fellows, this gal in the new car, which I just waited on doesn’t have any clothes on. She does have a little towel on her lap. I will sell the right to pick up her tray when she is finished to the highest bidder.

One of the boys said, OK, Richard, I will give you ten cents. Another one said, I will give you fifteen cents.

Even though I had three sisters, I had never seen a nude female, so I said, OK, Richard, I will give you twenty-five cents.

Richard said, OK, Bob, sold to the highest bidder.

As the highest bidder, I then gave Richard twenty-five cents, equal to two and a half hours’ pay. After about fifteen minutes or so, Miss Bare-breasted honked her horn for tray pickup, and I answered the call. I walked up to the driver’s door thinking maybe Richard was pulling one of his jokes on me, but he wasn’t! There sat Miss Bare-breasted, as bare as a skinned rabbit.

She said, Hello, young man, I am lonesome. Will you talk to me for a little while?

I said, Sure, miss. My name is Bob. What is yours, and what shall we talk about?

She said, My name is Sally, and let’s talk about the beautiful moon that is shining tonight.

I stood there with my foot on the running board, with my eyes wide open, and my eyeballs hanging out, and we talked for a good ten minutes or more. When I told her that I was sorry but I had to go back to work, Sally said, Bob, it was so nice meeting you, and I do hope to see you again.

I said, Thank you, Miss Sally, and I do hope to see you again.

As I picked up the tray, she placed a dollar bill on the tray as a tip, which was unheard of in those days, and blew me a kiss. Miss Sally made my day!

When I returned to my seat on the bench and Miss Sally had driven away, I showed the boys my dollar bill and said, Fellows, not only did I increase my knowledge, but it looks like I made a very good investment.

Unfortunately, I never did see Miss Sally again.

A year had passed since I started working at Al’s Drug Store. One evening, one of my buddies, Stanley Wade, came by the drugstore and told me that Sam Gibson, route manager for the Kansas City Journal-Post, wanted to see me the following day after school at his office as he had a paper route available that might be of interest to me. I thought, this is great! I asked myself, can I go to school and hold down two part-time jobs at the same time? Think of the money I will be making.

I was at Sam Gibson’s office the next day after school. He mentioned that one of the boys had become ill, and there was a route available on the west side of town if I was interested. He told me the requirements for being a Journal Post carrier: pay my monthly paper bill in full when due, be at the route manager’s office when the delivery truck arrived, and deliver my papers promptly to my customers. The delivery truck arrived at 4:00 p.m. on weekdays, at 5:00 a.m. Saturdays, and 1:00 a.m. on Sundays. All papers had to be picked up by 5:00 a.m. This route was on the west side of town, and the territory was one square mile, consisting mainly of residences, with just seventy-six customers, but it was expected for the new carrier to build up the route considerably.

I was familiar with the area of the city he mentioned, which consisted mainly of older homes, but there was a group of new homes being built. Many employees of the federal penitentiary and the military post at Fort Leavenworth were moving into the area, as it was a convenient location for their work. I knew what carriers had to pay for the papers, so I could quickly calculate my monthly commission, which would not be too great with only seventy-six customers. However, I could see the possibility of route expansion, so I told Mr. Gibson I was interested in the route. He said I could take over the route the next day, if it was convenient for me. He would give me a list of customers and would drive the route with me in his car for three days, so I could become familiar with the area and where the customers lived.

At that point, I became a carrier for the Kansas City Journal-Post. I worked hard making house calls, and in four months or so, I had increased my route to 150 daily customers. It then became a very good-paying route, but it was difficult to get up some Saturday or Sunday mornings in the winter when the temperature was below freezing and there was snow on the ground. Most of the time, I would ride my bike; but if there was too much ice or snow, I would have to walk my route, which was seven or eight miles round trip from my home.

Returning to the subject of my job with the drugstore, I was now just fifteen years of age. I had been working for Al Derzinski for three years, and we had, in my opinion, an excellent relationship. Some of the boys Al had hired did not last too long, as some left if the pay was not sufficient or for other reasons. A few Al fired, as he caught them stealing merchandise or shorting the cash register when making change. He found that I did not mind working long shifts and was very honest, so we got along very well.

During my years at Al’s Drug Store, I had worked as curb hop, delivery boy, fountain boy, and drug clerk, but now I worked mostly in the store stocking shelves, as a fountain boy or drug clerk. Some of the new or younger boys were required to make the deliveries.

Each Fourth of July, Al would have a shipment of fireworks delivered, and they would arrive probably three or four days before the Fourth of July. He would then have a fireworks stand moved from behind his building to the curbside near the street in front of the drugstore. He would then select one of his delivery boys to operate the fireworks stand for about three days before and including on the Fourth of July. It was always an honor among us boys to be selected by Al to operate the fireworks stand during this time. Al had selected me as the operator the year before; and he was pleased with my service, so he appointed me as fireworks manager for the second year, which pleased me very much.

It was the morning of the Fourth of July. I had arrived early, about 8:00 a.m., to get the stand set up and ready to go, because we expected business to be very good that year. By about 9:00 a.m., I had the stand completely set up. A car pulled up to the curb just in front of my stand about three or four feet from me with two men in the front seat. The passenger in the car, a young man who seemed very friendly, asked me how I was and wanted to know how much a firecracker known as a red salute would cost. This was a firecracker that was round, had about a three-inch fuse, and was very powerful. It was so powerful that if it exploded in your hand, it could easily blow a couple of fingers off.

I had just set a box containing seventy-five or a hundred of these red salutes on the counter in front of me. Suddenly the man, who had said his name was David, took his lit cigarette out of his mouth and flipped it into the box of these red salutes and then they quickly drove off.

I could see that the fuses on a number of these red salutes had picked up a spark from the cigarette and would be going off within the next few seconds and would probably ignite many of the other fireworks in the stand if they exploded.

There was no traffic on the street at that time, so I grabbed the box of red salutes and threw them out of the stand into the street and then immediately left by the back entrance of the fireworks stand. Suddenly, there was a series of very loud bangs as many of the red salutes exploded. No one was injured, and none of the fireworks in the stand caught fire. My boss Al came running out of the drugstore asking me what happened. I explained, and he said, Bob, thank you for that quick thinking. No one was injured, and we did not lose the fireworks stand. Thanks again. Now, next year, you can operate the fireworks stand again.

It was a Sunday afternoon in late May 1934, about 4:00 p.m. I had been working the soda fountain all afternoon, and Al’s wife, Virginia, had been at the store most of the afternoon, stocking shelves and talking to some of the customers.

When the customers had all left the store, Virginia came over to the fountain, sat down on one of the fountain stools, and said, Bob, how about fixing me a cherry coke?

I said, Sure, Virginia. A short one or a tall one?

Well, she replied, as we are not too busy, I would like to sit and talk with you a little while, so make it a tall one.

We talked for about half an hour, just about school, football games, and when she was a teacher—nothing special, just passing the time.

About that time, Al came over, sat down on one of the fountain stools next to Virginia, and said, What are you drinking, dear?

She said, Bob just fixed me a cherry coke. Do you want a taste?

He said, No, I don’t think so. But, Bob, will you fix me a tall root beer with a dip of ice cream in it?

OK, Al, one root beer float coming up.

After I served the drink to Al, he and Virginia sat at the fountain and talked for a little while. I was doing a little cleanup on the fountain and checking the syrup containers.

Shortly, I heard Al say, Virginia, let’s go downstairs and talk a little while and finish our drinks.

They got up, saying, See you later, and headed for the stairway leading down to the basement area. Al had renovated one of the basement rooms of the drugstore into a nice area similar to a living room. Rather frequently, some of his friends would come by, and if business was slow, they would retire to his basement hideout with a pot of coffee and play cards or chess.

By then, I got busy serving some customers at the fountain; and when they left about thirty minutes later, Dave, the assistant pharmacist, came over, sat down, and said he had just finished doing some work in the pharmacy room. We had been talking only a few minutes when we heard Virginia coming up the steps from the basement.

As she came by the fountain, she said, See you all later, and went out the front door. Usually, she stopped and talked a little, so David and I wondered if she had a problem.

After about ten minutes, Al came up from the basement, and we heard him in the prescription room. Then he came to the door and checked to see if we were alone. He said, Dave and Bob, come back here for a minute.

This was not unusual, as many times, he would ask us to work on something in the prescription room. When we arrived, he said, I want to show and tell you something.

He opened a drawer, took out a .38 caliber revolver,